


The Sun Will Shine

by juliabohemian



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Avengers Spoilers, Gen, Infinity War spoilers, Post Infinity War, Spoilers, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, loki spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-04-29 11:54:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14472222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliabohemian/pseuds/juliabohemian
Summary: Not even going to include a description because I don't want to spoil anyone who has not seen Infinity War. I will probably go back and change this later. Infinity War related drabbles. Not all chapters are part of a cohesive story.





	1. The Sun Will Shine

Loki slowly drops to his knees in the middle of a vast expanse of grass. He's vaguely aware that there's a gentle breeze blowing, because he can see the blades moving. But he cannot feel the wind on his skin. He is neither cold, nor warm. He knows that this is not real. Or at the very least, it is a different kind of real.

All around him there is talking and laughing. People are passing him eagerly, pushing forward, going on ahead. A bright light shimmers invitingly in the distance. Loki knows this place. He knows what this is.

A familiar man pauses beside him.

"Why have you stopped?" He asks, softly.

Loki's mind feels slow and odd. It takes him a moment to articulate his confusion.

"Why am I not among the unworthy dead?"

Heimdall regards the question with utmost seriousness.

"Hmm…the simplest explanation is, of course, because you're not unworthy."

"I can't go," Loki insists, stubbornly.

"Look yonder," Heimdall says. He points at the horizon. "Your parents await."

"They're not my parents," Loki whispers. His lips form a petulant pout.

Heimdall's laugh is deep and rich.

"You don't really believe that. Do you?"

Loki's eyes burn with unshed tears. He doesn't answer the question. He can't.

"I'm so ashamed," he confesses, although he can't seem to remember why.

Heimdall reaches for the younger man, his palm open in anticipation.

"Take my hand, child. We shall cross the distance together."

* * *

And just like that they are back atop Stark Tower again. They are face to face, grappling and sparring like animals, as the world comes undone around them.

"Brother, help me put an end to this," Thor insists. It's different this time. He's eager, persistent, confident. "We can do it together."

He can see from Loki's face that he knows something is amiss. Something has changed. They should not be here now, like this. These events have already taken place, as have so many other things, some of them dark and terrible. Thor notices that it takes some getting used to, this shifting back and forth through time. He finds it not at all unlike a waking dream. Somehow he expected that it would come more easily to Loki.

"You don't know," Loki rambles. He grips the scepter with both hands, clutching it against his chest. "You don't know…you don't know what he's capable of. This will end  _his_  way, one way or another…Thanos will have his way…" He's breathing rapidly and so his words come out in harsh, laborious pants. His eyes are wide and fearful, darting back and forth.

"Loki, please…" Thor begins. "You _must_  listen to me…"

"I can't…I can't…this is madness…it's madness…"

Thor reaches for the other man. But Loki seems so fragile right now, that he's not sure if it's safe to even touch him.

"You  _can_  trust me…"

"No…no…it's madness…"

Loki lets go of the scepter with his right hand. His fingers creep towards his own throat, as if to pry off some invisible force.

"Brother, help me. I'm choking…I'm choking…"

Thor's soul aches when reminded of Loki's brutal end. Even with all of the shifting back and forth, it still feels so fresh in his mind. It pains him to know that Loki might be reliving it somehow. He longs to soothe his brother's fears, but he knows they don't have the time.

"Loki you have to calm down!" Thor yells. He must roar to be heard over the din and confusion.

Loki's eyes are immediately shut tight. He raises the scepter in front of his face in a defensive gesture. Thor's heart sinks when he realizes that his brother is anticipating violence.

Softly and gently he reaches for Loki's free hand, and presses the palm of it firmly against his own forehead.

Thor has never given up any degree of control to Loki before, not really. He's learned that it's easier to allow Loki to spy and stalk him from a safe distance, than to simply engage in full disclosure. Certain barriers have always been necessary between them, for both their sake. But today that will not do. Thor knows that today, Loki needs more.

"I invite you to look into my mind, Brother. See that you can trust me. See that I feel nothing but love for you."

Loki opens his eyes. His expression is still one of sheer panic. Thor knows that he doesn't trust people easily, and right now he cannot even trust reality.

"No, I…"

"Loki, please…"

Loki swallows several times, as though he is attempting to literally consume his distress. Finally, he lets his eyes fall closed again. His fingers curl, relaxing around the roundness of his brother's head.

Thor can feel the other man entering his mind. Even with permission given, it's still an invasion of sorts. He relaxes as much as he can, trying to let go of any lingering anger or resentment. He descends into the moist depths of his own subconscious. He grabs hold of that which is sweetest and most tender, and holds it up as an offering. Then he waits for Loki to meet him there.

His mind is immediately flooded with images. There's a vast, green field, and a steep cliff, overlooking a deep pool. The colors are so rich and inviting. There are two boys -one blonde and one dark- holding hands and running. They count together, a practiced ritual. They scream and laugh as they leap to the water below. After they land, they race to the surface, gasping for air. They make their way to the shore, scrambling onto the rocks. Their clothes are sticking to their tiny bodies. They slog over to the grass and fling themselves onto it, lying on their backs. They gaze up into the clouds. It's all so bright, so real, and so right now-

"Okay," Loki says. He blinks several times, before slowly passing the scepter to his brother. "Okay."


	2. Glorious Purpose

Thor stands before his Midgardian friends. He can tell by their sea of confused expressions that his most recent actions require further explanation. His declarations of time travel were met with harsh skepticism. And rightly so, he supposes. Such notions probably seem preposterous to the people of this realm. They seem preposterous enough to the people of his  _own_  realm. But they were a great deal more well received than his dragging a panicked, crazed Loki back into Stark Tower. Upon returning to this timeline, Thor apprehended the scepter almost immediately. Unfortunately, his brother was not quite so easily wrangled. Somehow he expected it to be the other way around.

_"I'm losing my mind,"_  Loki insisted. _"Can't you see that I'm going mad?"_

His breathing became increasingly erratic, practically to the point of hyperventilation. Thor was just beginning to wonder whether he had made a colossal mistake, when Natasha jabbed Loki in the thigh with something sharp. Loki lost consciousness shortly after. The others assured him that it was not a weapon, but some kind of medicine. It was meant only to inspire a state of deep relaxation. And that it did. Loki would have collapsed to the floor in a heap, had Thor not caught him and laid him down properly.

Now Loki is curled on his side, lying atop the sofa cushions. He's still in his black and green battle leathers, though Thor removed his helmet and jacket. Loki's long arms are crossed defensively against his chest. Although he is asleep, he is still clearly restless. The noises he makes are barely audible, but they are just loud enough to imply some ambiguous degree of anguish. And Thor knows his brother well enough. He can tell by the subtle movements of Loki's fingers that he is dreaming about something unpleasant.

He lets his hand hover over Loki's face briefly. He thinks about touching him, but he hesitates. Somehow it feels like a violation, especially in the presence of all these people. Still, he watches carefully over his brother, knowing he can't defend himself in this unnaturally helpless state.

"We were on a ship filled with Asgardian refugees," Thor explains, "and we were attacked."

"You mean…eight years from now," Steve clarifies.

"Yes…we were being boarded. We had but minutes to prepare ourselves. There were things Loki needed me to know. But there wasn't time to tell me…so he showed me."

Natasha tilts her head suspiciously at Thor's claim.

"How?"

"Loki is gifted in magic, among so many other things."

When Thor blinks again he keeps his eyes closed for a moment. He wonders if Loki is aware of how truly talented he is, how insanely clever. He can't seem to remember ever telling his brother such, not with any degree of sincerity. He's surprised to feel fresh tears burning behind his eyelids. His instinct is to hide them. But he wonders if perhaps it isn't more appropriate to allow his friends to see his grief.

Thor catches Natasha studying him closely. He watches her expression slowly change from one of disbelief to one of curiosity.

"Well…what did he show you?" she asks.

"Before he came here," Thor begins, "Loki was missing from us for a year. He learned of his adoption in a rather unfortunate way. In his distress he attempted to take his own life. We could no longer see him, and thus we truly believed him to be dead. But he'd fallen into a terrible, dark place…into the hands of Thanos. And Thanos warped him and bent his will and wielded him like a weapon."

"With that stone," Banner interjects. "You mean like he did to Selvig with the scepter."

"Yes, exactly. You see, before…when we defeated the Chitauri…"

"So, those things are gone," Stark interrupts. "I just want to clarify..."

Thor grits his teeth, attempting to veil his frustration. He knows that these people have not the benefit of viewing their current circumstances in hindsight, as he does.

"After we defeated the Chitauri," he repeats, "I took Loki home in chains. But he said nothing to me. He went with me willingly, and so I never questioned his motives. My father would have put him to death, had my mother not spoken on his behalf."

"Why wouldn't he just tell you the truth?" Steve asks. He actually looks mildly horrified by the notion of a man executing his own child. Thor breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes that at least one person is taking him seriously.

"I believe he feared the wrath of Thanos. Prison might be unpleasant, but it was also heavily guarded, both day and night. There was no safer place on Asgard, except for perhaps the vault. Two years Loki spent alone in his cell...and I never looked in on him during that time."

"But that's not your fault," Banner points out, diplomatically. "I mean...if he didn't tell you, there's no way you could have known."

The others eye him quizzically, and he knows that they can't possibly understand. They don't trust Loki, which isn't entirely unreasonable considering the circumstances. And while that could prove to be an obstacle in the longterm, what concerns Thor most is the realization that Loki didn't trust  _him_. Loki was in trouble and he didn't ask for help. And Thor knows it's because Loki assumed that none would be forthcoming. He assumed that the answer would be  _no_.

"I have asked myself many times…how I could look into my brother's eyes  _then_  and not see what I saw so easily today. Nay, I saw exactly what I wanted to see. I saw what I have always seen. He didn't trust me with his troubles, and he was right not to. I would not have listened."

"Yeah...I don't mean to be insensitive or anything, but this guy practically leveled Manhattan-" Stark says. "What makes you think he wasn't just playing you? How do we know you're not just playing us?"

"Are any of you without transgression?" Thor demands, gruffly. He scans the faces in the room with a bold gaze.

"Well,  _he_  probably is," Banner mumbles, gesturing at Steve.

"Loki is the least of your worries," Thor replies. "Meanwhile, Thanos is out there, looming in the shadows. You have no idea what dangers await the people of this realm-"

"And we're supposed to just take your word for it?" Natasha asks, raising an eyebrow.

"My friends," he begins. He takes a few seconds to consider what he might say to better make his point. "When I first met you, I spoke ill of my brother with ease. But I was in error. There was some truth in my words, but it was fueled by my own personal prejudices. I should have shown more...discretion."

"I understand," Steve says, with a nod.

Stark scoffs, loudly.

"Uh...you do?"

Steve turns to address him.

"Perhaps you've spent so much time up here in this monument to greed, that concepts like honor and loyalty no longer mean anything to you."

"That was completely unnecessary," Stark announces. Although he hardly sounds wounded by the other man's statement. If anything, he appears to have lost interest in the conversation altogether. He makes his way to the other side of the room and begins fixing himself a drink.

Thor can't help being intrigued that it is Steve who required the least convincing. But he knows he must still convince the others. He clears his throat before continuing.

"Had I not returned here today, eight years from now, Loki would have traded his life for mine. I am not referring to the heat of battle, but a careful and calculated choice. I watched him die. It wasn't quick. It was drawn out and painful...and he met his demise knowingly and willingly. It was-" He pauses. He's startled to find himself suddenly overcome with emotion.

No longer able to resist the urge, Thor brings his hand to rest on Loki's shoulder. He's haunted by a persistent, irrational need to prove to himself that his brother is in fact alive and real. He knows that this is a different time, that this Loki possesses only the most subliminal awareness of events that have yet to occur. But in his mind he can still see the other man gasping desperately for air, still hear the sound of his neck breaking. He closes his eyes and attempts to will the memory away. Loki doesn't stir or react to his touch. Despite his agitated state, he's been claimed deeply by his drug induced slumber.

"...it was an act of love," Thor finishes, quietly.

"But you  _did_  return," Steve points out. "And you've already altered  _our_  destiny by closing the portal and stopping those...things. Perhaps you've already altered his destiny as well."

Thor looks down at his sleeping brother. He can't help but notice how very young he seems, how vulnerable. He knows that he's not here to repair their broken relationship. He tasked with something far beyond tending to his own personal woes. But he cannot help thinking that if it is possible to mend the universe, perhaps it is possible to mend Loki as well.

He realizes that he was holding his breath, and he exhales slowly before responding.

"Perhaps, I have."


	3. The Most Good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve Rogers leads a team to explore a seemingly abandoned vessel. Steve’s POV. AU from other chapters.

 

When the ship comes tearing through the atmosphere, it sets off all sorts of whistles and bells. The United States military tries hailing it. But there is no response. There is only static.

What is strange is that it does not plummet to the ground, as one might expect. It simply hovers there, in the air…a few miles above Earth's surface.

It seems prudent to investigate, they decide.  _They._   _They_  who allowed themselves to be infiltrated by HYDRA.  _They_  who only acknowledge you when they want something from you.  _They_  who called you a criminal until they were desperate for your help. And you oblige, of course. Because it could be dangerous. And if it is, you want to be there. You want to be where you can do the most good. That's all you've ever really wanted. Isn't it?

You lead a team of five. But you are the first to enter the vessel. The mechanism that operates the door is no longer functioning. In order to gain entry, you must force it open with all of your strength.

You pause, as you take in the sight before you. All around you, broken machinery hisses and crackles, some emitting a continuous shower of sparks. There is an overpowering scent that you cannot place. It is vaguely familiar, reminiscent of burning plastic perhaps...with a hint of something else. And there are so many bodies. There are bodies piled upon bodies…men and women, children and infants. There are so many bodies that there is practically no room for you to walk. Out of respect, you try your best to step over them. Though you find that it is almost impossible to do so.

You know what combat looks like. You've seen enough of it in your lifetime. You've seen soldiers fallen in the field of battle, friend and enemy alike. But whatever  _this_  was, it was no contest, no struggle of wills between opponents. This was an ambush, a slaughter…a massacre of innocents.

You carefully make your way through one corridor after another, searching diligently for survivors. There are some. But they are few in number, and most are so severely wounded that you doubt that they will live long enough to receive proper medical attention. You feel sick from it...the knowledge that someone could place so little value on life, that they could snuff it out so thoughtlessly. You struggle to shove your emotions aside, however, as you've learned that they can only be a liability at a time such as this.

You round another corner and another and another. It's more and more of the same...an endless display of death and rubble.

And that's when you see him.

He's propped up against the wall, his arms wrapped tightly around a small child. He is staring into space, his lids half closed. His cheeks and hands are peppered with tiny cuts. He seems unaware of the carnage around him.

You approach him, cautiously, and kneel down before him. It has only been eight years. But he is much different than you remember...older, battle weary. His hair is longer, and his features no longer distended with madness.

While he senses your presence, he does not look directly at you. Your appearance has changed drastically, since your last encounter. Your own hair is longer, as well. You are now sporting a thick beard, and clad entirely in black...no longer donning that brightly colored costume. Although you suspect that his failure to recognize you is rooted in something else altogether.

"I'm alright," Loki offers, softly. Even though it is obvious that he is not.

His breathing is labored and shallow. And now that you are closer, you notice that a piece of metal…a narrow beam of some sort…has impaled him. A short length of it is protruding from his abdomen. The blood around the point of entry is mostly dried. Though some continues to seep through, around the edges. His clothing is soaked with blood. His own, you assume...although you cannot fathom how he has survived so long with such a profound loss of fluid. You have no idea how long he has been sitting like this. Perhaps hours, or maybe even days.

He slowly loosens his grip on the child.

"You'll help him?" Loki asks, blankly. He does not look at you, but  _through_  you.

"You must help him," he adds. "He is the only son of Volstagg, The Valiant."

You reach for the boy. His body is cold. You have no doubt that he has been deceased for quite some time. You wonder where Thor is, and why he is not here. You wonder who these people are, and why they were en route to Earth to begin with. Mostly, you wonder who or what it was that prevented them from reaching their destination alive. You have a thousand questions. Though you know this is not the time to ask them.

"Yeah, of course," you say, instead.

You take the child from his arms. You hold the boy gently, even though you know he is dead...and even though there are easily a hundred more dead children, just meters away.

One of the others catches up to you. He's young...he couldn't possibly be more than twenty years old. When he comes to stand beside you, he is so close that you can feel the toe of his boot pressing into your leg.

"Is that..." he begins.

You don't allow him to finish.

"This man needs immediate medical attention," you interrupt, sharply.

Loki folds his hands and brings them to rest them in his lap. His fingers are interlocked so gracefully. He is trying to keep his head up, his chin perpendicular to the ground. There's something disturbing about it...his instinct to appear well postured, even as he slowly bleeds to death. You recognize such behavior as the product of training. Not military training, perhaps. But training all the same.

"Sir?" the young soldier pries, with uncertainty.

You lock eyes, for a long moment. Then he nods and departs to find the others.

"We're going to get you out of here," you tell Loki. "Do you understand?"

Loki blinks a few times, his eyes still vacant. He glances down at the boy in your arms.

He does not address your statement. He only repeats himself, numbly.

"You must help him."


End file.
